


Arranged

by Sophie_skates_reads



Series: The Confounding and Chaotic Tales of Plisetsky-Altins (and how THAT Mess came to be) [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Otabek Altin, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Yuri Plisetsky, Omegaverse, YOI Omegaverse Week, preheat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25712881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie_skates_reads/pseuds/Sophie_skates_reads
Summary: At 21 years old, Yuri Plisetsky is a junior at Julliard school of the arts, studying under the famous Lilia Baranovskaya.At 21 years old, Yuri Plisetsky needs to pay for his grandfather's new heart medication, and had no means of doing so.At 21 years old, Yuri Plisetsky becomes old enough to enter into a government-sponsored arranged marriage with his soulmate. His soulmate, who happens to be rich.At 21 years old, Yuri Plisetsky isnota gold digger. But he needs help, and is it so bad to get that help?At 21 years old, Yuri Plisetsky shows up to his wedding to a man he's never met, and,of coursehis heat came early.At 21 years old, Yuri Plisetsky is in for one weird day.~~~Or: I've never written omegaverse before, didn't know it was YOI omegaverse week, found out, and am now publishing Monday's story late. There are also some YOI characters mixed into that mess.
Relationships: Mila Babicheva & Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: The Confounding and Chaotic Tales of Plisetsky-Altins (and how THAT Mess came to be) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867903
Comments: 26
Kudos: 144
Collections: YOI Omegaverse Week





	Arranged

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so, as I said, I've never written omegaverse before. This was kind of made up as I went along, so read with kindness? Please?  
> Enjoy :)

Yuri stared at his calendar with a sense of foreboding. How was it so _soon?_

When he’d thought about the wedding before, it had been in a vague way, the wedding itself an abstract, distant concept that he didn’t need to worry about then. But slowly it had grown closer and closer, and now Yuri felt a sickening coiling in his gut as the little circled box on his calendar stated him down. 

He wasn’t ready to get married. He didn’t want to get married in the first place, never had. Who cared if this dude was supposedly his soulmate? If they were meant to be, it would be, and it would happen _naturally_ , thank you very much. But—

But the wedding planner had let it slip while she was trying to force him into picking china patterns that the price wasn’t an issue. Apparently the Altins (his soulmate’s last name) we’re paying for the wedding, and, as it was wheedled out of the planner, money, for them, was anything but the problem it was for Yuri. 

It wasn’t that he was a gold digger— he wasn’t, in fact, he was normally loathe to accept any kind of assistance at all in that department, but Grandpa was sick. Sick _er_ than he had been since Yuri could remember. It wasn’t life-threatening, thank god, but the medication for his back had always been expensive, and with this new one he needed for his heart... Yuri couldn’t do it. He was buried in bills from Julliard as it was and he’d barely been holding on before. He worked two jobs after dance and babysat for old neighbors whenever he had the time, no matter that he was a junior in college, but as hard as he dug his heels into the ground and pulled with his life’s strength, he couldn’t make ends meet. 

When the agency for arranged marriages came knocking at the door, at first he’d been appalled. He didn’t need some lunatic, government-controlled, happily-ever-after with a man he'd just met. But the bills had piled up. And even Yuri, stubborn as he was, could admit when he’d reached the end of the road and needed help. The Altins, according to their limited contact through the planner, were more than willing to offer that help. _Of course_ his soulmate wanted to take care of his grandfather in law, the one who had worked tooth and nail for far too long to raise his future husband. 

Yuri didn’t like arranged marriages, even if they were the norm these days: he was opposed to it on principle. But for his grandfather, there was nothing he wouldn’t do.

***

Twisting, roiling heat had made itself a home in the pit of his stomach, and it flipped again as Yuri stared at the ridiculous, (though he had to admit, pretty,) dress hanging on the back of his wardrobe. 

As an omega, Yuri was entitled to whatever wedding garb he so chose, and his mate had made it clear with the planner that he didn’t give a flying fuck about what gender’s attire Yuri showed up dressed in, and Yuri, who walked the line of androgyny, felt most comfortable in a dress. He knew he looked amazing in it, too, everyone (the wedding planner, a sales associate at the bridal store, _Mila_ , for fuck’s sakes) had thoroughly let him know that, so, if nothing else, at least the pictures would be great.

With a sigh and a glance at the clock, Yuri, at last, tore his gaze away from the gauzy, white fabric he was to be enshrouded in in only a matter of hours, and turned to face the bed. It was after midnight and he was to be up again at six to be made up by a horde of overeager state wedding people and Mila, the only person he’d wanted in the wedding party. 

As he forced his eyes shut, Yuri thought it probable that he wouldn’t sleep a wink, nerves high as they were, but drifted off into an uneasy rest, all the same, dreams of veils and bouquets dancing in his head, accompanied by something that sounded suspiciously like a funeral march.

***

Yuri woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, flames licking and caressing his abdomen as something warm and sticky dripped down his thighs.

Yuri gasped, finally recognizing the hot, cramping sensation that had accosted him all day for what it was. He was in heat.

Foggy headed and groaning, Yuri peeled himself from the bed, drenched in sweat and other substances he _would not_ think about, and stumbled his way to the bathroom of the tiny, off-campus apartment he would soon vacate to live with his soulmate, doubled over and clutching his abdomen all the way.

Yuri ripped open the drawers under the sink, tossing the contents this way and that in his haste and desperation to find what he needed.

At last, the tiny, orange pill bottle whipped out of sight, riding on the edge of a washcloth discarded, and Yuri tore after it, landing on his knees, digging through his open laundry bin to find the bottle. With a painful twist of his guts and a gush of Yuri-didn’t-want-to-think-about-what down his thighs, Yuri groaned and at last, _at last_ , his hand made contact with the pill bottle. 

Yuri dry-swallowed two suppressants gratefully, thanking god that stressers, however inconvenient, could be delayed for a bit. Yuri let himself melt onto the cool linoleum of the bathroom floor, pressing his heated cheek against the surface, a hand pressing into his abdomen, the cramping still full-force.

His next heat was supposed to be a month from then, but, apparently, Yuri’s stress and apprehension about the wedding had brought it on early— on the _eve_ of the wedding, no less. Great. _Exactly_ what Yuri needed right now. Yuri just hoped that the suppressants would be able to delay the heat for three days, long enough to get through the wedding and traveling -- though he would still be in pre -- and he’d make it to the hotel in Barcelona before he’d be reduced to a groaning, whimpering mess. 

Trying not to think too hard about how his ‘honeymoon’ would go, his mate’s reaction to a heat so soon, and how on earth he would survive tomorrow, Yuri drifted off into an uneasy sleep, lying surrounded by the chaos of his frenzied search on the rapidly-warming bathroom floor.

***

Yuri woke, _again_ , feeling like shit.

It was Mila who found him, shivering and half-conscious on the bathroom floor, and one look around (one fucking sniff— Yuri’s pheromones were drenching everything around him in thick, cloying heat scent, only barely reduced by pre) and she let out a groan.

“Oh no,” she said, kneeling to pry Yuri off the floor, putting a hand to his forehead. She swore, “I thought it was next month!”

“Me too,” Yuri mumbled as she helped him to his feet, guiding him to sit on the toilet lid, “it’s the wedding.”

“A stresser?” Mila swore again. “That’s even worse. Your scent will be impossible to block.”

“Really?” Yuri muttered, glaring at her from under a curtain of sweat-damp hair, “I never would’ve guessed.” He gestured weakly around at the entire apartment which was absolutely saturated in the scent of omega in heat. The pre mixed into the scent was likely the only thing stopping the alphas in the building from knocking his door down, though that made Yuri feel no safer in the apartment. At least Mila was there now.

Mila rolled her eyes. “At least you caught it early and had a chance to suppress it before it got too bad— do you think you’ll last until after the wedding?” 

Yuri nodded. “We can’t cancel it,” he winced as something deep in his abdomen flared hot. “Grandpa’s meds are due to be paid next week— I need to be married.” 

Mila’s eyes scrunched in sympathy but she nodded. “Okay,” she said hesitantly, “if you’re sure...”

“I am,” Yuri mumbled.

“Okay,” she said again, her voice surer this time. “Then let’s get you cleaned up before the wedding people get here— we won’t be able to hide that you’re in pre but if we can hide how far gone you are they won’t make a fuss.” 

Yuri nodded and allowed Mila to put her arm around him, steadying him as he walked back to the bedroom and sat on the very edge of his bed, avoiding the spot where he had slept that was still drenched with stale sweat and slick.

Mila pursed her lips, looking around at the messy bedroom and destroyed bathroom. “Okay,” she said, “change of plans. I’ll call the wedding people and tell them we’re going to get you ready at the hotel and to meet us there.” Yuri nodded. “And now I’m going to get you some ice water to bring down your temperature while you get up and walk around. You need to figure out how to pretend to be fine for the ceremony. Up you get.”

Yuri whimpered but did so, painstakingly straightening his back even as a heated poker played with his insides, and ignored the small amount of slick still leaking down his thighs, forcing himself to walk normally.

“Now _smile_.” Mila said from the doorway, her mouth in a thin line and a disapproving eyebrow raised— a perfect imitation of Madame Lilia, their instructor at Julliard.

Yuri grinned a bit at the impression and stuck the expression to his face.

Mila grinned brightly for a second, blowing Yuri a kiss before disappearing through the door, and Yuri returned to his task.

***

At times like these, Yuri thanked whatever deity that actually existed that he was a dancer. He had played so many parts that the stage was his home and acting was second nature. Which really came in handy when you were currently dragging yourself through a fever dream while pretending everything was fine.

“You must be just entering preheat,” the makeup artist said above him, “you’re barely showing any symptoms at all!”

Yuri forced a weak smile and was promptly scolded even though the woman was working on his eyes and not his lips, “I’m fine.” He managed before he was scolded again, and fell into silence.

After what felt like an eternity, Yuri’s and Mila’s hair and makeup were done and the latter ushered the wedding people out of the room. Yuri looked up at her, his sweatpants and T-shirt contrasting brilliantly with his made-up face and intricately done hair.

“And now,” Mila said, door shut and locked, “for the dress.” 

This was the part they were most worried about. During both preheat and heat itself, one’s abdomen bloated significantly, and for Yuri, it was made incredibly noticeable because he was so slim. Now was the worst, though, because the dress had been fitted to his exact measurements-- his measurements that didn’t allow for heat-bloating.

Yuri stripped, long having abandoned any reservations about being naked around Mila, and stepped into the dress, taking care that no small amount of slick escaped the pad he was wearing and marred the white expanse of the dress. 

Mila stood behind him as the dress was tugged into place, and Yuri could hear her grimace when she spoke, both firmly and sympathetically, “Suck in, as hard as you can.” 

Mila was a beta so she’d never experienced a heat first hand, but she’d dormed with Yuri throughout their first years at Juilliard and her girlfriend was an omega, so she had as good a knowledge as she possibly could of what it was like to be in heat. Apparently, so she and Sara said, the cramping and bloating were similar to the periods they had — and Sara lost no time complaining that she had to go through _two_ monthly ailments (even though heats were trimonthly, but whatever) — though Yuri couldn’t say he knew. Either way, Mila was likely the best person to help Yuri right now, but she still had no idea how painful it was to _suck in_ while dealing with heat cramps. Yuri did, though, and let himself wince as Mila tanked the zipper forcefully up his back.

“Again,” Mila called from behind him, and Yuri put his left hand, his right braced against the chair back to steady himself, flat on his stomach, and did his best to compress his swollen abdomen enough for the zipper to reach his shoulder blades. A button was done at the base of his neck, and Mila let out a sigh of relief. “You’re all zipped up,” she said, “do you feel okay?”

Breathing was made difficult, but Yuri nodded in the affirmative all the same.

“Good,” Mila said, “now all we have to do is actually get you married. Piece of cake.”

Yuri glared.

“We’ve got a little over an hour until the ceremony starts,” Mila said, “you should be as comfortable as possible while you can be,” even though he couldn’t breathe, but whatever, “so… want to watch TV?” Mila gestured to the flatscreen mounted on the wall before the couches and Yuri nodded, sinking onto the couch and taking care not to wrinkle his dress badly as he reclined against a pillow.

Two minutes later, Friends was on the screen, and Yuri tried to distract himself from the scorching, writhing pain in the pit of his abdomen with the show. Mila put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, reassuring Yuri in her own small way.

***

Yuri tried to take deep, slow breaths as he stood before the double doors leading to the aisle down which he’d soon have to walk. His grandfather squeezed his hand and Yuri looked at him: there was no need to keep up the pretenses with his _dedushka._

“It’ll be alright, Yuratchka, calm down.”

Yuri nodded, trying to believe his words. “I am calm.” The old man raised an eyebrow and Yuri wilted. “Calm...ish.” He amended reluctantly and his grandfather chuckled.

“You’re in pain,” he said, “but chin up, it’ll all be over soon. Just think— soon you’ll be married to the love of your life, what’s better than that?”

Yuri forced a smile and nodded, fixing his eyes back on the doors.

His grandfather didn’t know why Yuri was agreeing to the arranged marriage, just that he had, and, as many did, he assumed that Yuri truly wanted to marry his soulmate. Yuri did, in time, though he would prefer to actually _know them_ before he did, but he felt no need to enlighten his grandfather just now. It would only upset him, and Yuri didn’t want that. 

Suddenly, music began behind the doors and Yuri felt his heart speed up. Mila leaned over from her place ahead of him in the party and smiled, raising her eyebrows in a way that communicated to Yuri, _just hold on, it’ll all be over soon._

Thoroughly hoping that she was right, Yuri watched Mila walk out of the hall, leaving just Yuri and his grandfather. Yuri made a conscious effort to ignore the flames licking his abdomen and paste a smile to his face.

***

In the end, Yuri really didn’t remember much about the wedding. He remembered clearly walking down the aisle (or was it up the aisle?) to his soul mate, a bright, fake smile on his face and leaning probably more than he should have on his grandfather as he walked. The looks on the faces of the guests were priceless-- it certainly wasn’t normal for the 'bride' to be in preheat at their wedding, but Yuri was apparently faking well, so most people’s faces melted into endeared amusement-- they probably thought he was just excited to be getting married.

The one person who seemed neither endeared nor amused about Yuri being in preheat was the man waiting at the altar. 

He was short, just barely taller than Yuri’s 5 feet 4 inches, obviously very muscular beneath the tux, and staring, a furrow in his brow, at Yuri as he came up the aisle. Yuri honestly didn’t give him much thought, concentrating on smiling convincingly and staying upright in the heels, his grandfather’s arm around his steadying him.

The groom’s eyes (the warmest chocolate brown with golden flecks), his hair (raven with a hint of natural curls, styled in an undercut), and everything else about him (skin tone: soft, creamy caramel. Nose: attractively upturned. Lips: soft-looking and a warm, plush pink) didn’t register with Yuri. What did, however, was his _scent._

It hit Yuri full in the senses-heightened face as he got halfway up the aisle, and he stumbled slightly, his grandfather yanking on his arm to keep him moving forward and moving his hand to the small of Yuri’s back to steady him. Some of the people in the pews chuckled, others rolled their eyes, and Yuri’s soulmate, whatever his name was, moved forward slightly, his frown deepening and concern flashing in his eyes. It had to be obvious to everyone by Yuri’s scent that he was in preheat, and the groom looked like he was questioning if the wedding should be taking place at all, looking Yuri up and down and watching him with a close eye as he approached him, in case he should fall.

Yuri was focused on the man’s _scent,_ though, and nothing else could hold his attention. Even as the small, rational part of his brain screamed at him to focus on something else; the smile that was sipping somewhat; walking normally -- which he was only doing because his grandfather was guiding him --; literally _anything_ important, Yuri’s nose honed in on the distressed, worried scent coming off his mate. Coffee and vanilla swirled around him, a deep, woodsy scent, and something that vaguely reminded Yuri of motor oil, took Yuri’s already mushy brain, and liquefied it. From the very first time he smelled it, Yuri knew that scent was _safe._

And then he snapped back into reality, his grandfather’s nudge waking him up, and Yuri realized that they were standing still before the altar, his _dedushka_ waiting for Yuri to get with the program. 

Wanting to roll his eyes at his own, wandering brain, Yuri instead bent slightly to kiss his grandfather on the cheek, unable to suppress a wince as the pressure from the dress cut into his abdomen and the burning worsened. Yuri straightened up, feeling sweat beading on his forehead and thoroughly hoping that his makeup wouldn’t run, and used all of his dancer’s grace to get up the few steps to stand across from his betrothed.

The priest began to speak, the words going straight over Yuri’s head as he concentrated on not swaying where he stood. He felt truly ill, and he was struggling not to show his agitation as the corset-like bodice of the ridiculous, poofy dress he wore strangled him. The man across from him, whose hands he now realized that he held, caught his eye and mouthed at him, _are you okay?_

Yuri nodded because, yes, he was okay. He _needed_ to be okay. 

Suddenly there was a ring being slipped onto his finger and Yuri _really_ hoped that he’d managed to keep the smile up the whole time his brain had gone off to heat-induced wonderland. 

It took Yuri three tries to get his fingers to pick up the ring that was _far too tiny_ from the little satin pillow and he tried to suppress his blush as he managed to get it onto Otabek’s finger, knowing that everyone was wondering what the hell was wrong with him and why the hell he had gone ahead with the wedding if he couldn’t even manage to pick up a ring.

Warm lips were on his and Yuri _almost_ melted against them, remembering and catching himself just in time. Otabek (he distantly remembered the priest calling his soulmate that) put a firm arm around Yuri’s waist as they walked back up the aisle, guiding him surreptitiously out the doors and down the pathway as Yuri focused on maintaining his smile and not moving a hand to cradle his abdomen, burning red-hot at the very bottom, between his hips, and making walking painful.

Otabek opened the door for Yuri as they reached the car that would take them to the reception and Yuri felt rather proud of himself for lifting his skirt and getting into it gracefully while his lungs were compressed.

Otabek shut the door and went around the car to get into his side, sliding into the seat and dropping the mask Yuri’s foggy brain now realized he’d been wearing while he’d smiled and waved at the guests as they left the church. “Are you okay?” His voice was smooth and low, and Yuri’s brain could only compare it to chocolate, the urgency and anxiety in it the flakes of sea salt in caramels.

“I’m fine.” Yuri managed, his voice the closest approximation to steady as he could get it, and finally dropped his wide, beaming smile, replacing it hurriedly with a small, hopefully reassuring, one to cover the grimace that had briefly made an appearance. 

Otabek didn’t look like he believed Yuri for a second, but nodded slowly and squeezed his hand that Yuri now realized he was holding. “We’ll go as soon as we can,” Otabek said, meaning the reception, as the driver began to pull out and down the road.

Yuri just nodded and let his head fall against the window, the cool pane soothing against his flushed, feverish skin.

***

The first dance came and went, vanishing similarly from Yuri’s memory, but he was fairly sure that some combination of autopilot, Otabek’s guidance, and being a dancer for nearly two decades, got him through it.

Otabek stood close enough to him that Yuri could lean on him without it being noticeable as they welcomed the guests into the banquet hall the Altins had rented out for the dinner, and Yuri smiled and inserted appropriate responses when his mind noticed that he needed to speak. He made a considerable effort to stay present during the introductions to Otabek’s family and friends, remembering Leo who apparently had been Otabek’s best man and who had given him a warm, open smile, and told him, kindly, that he could drop the act and that they’d talk when Yuri felt better. Part of Yuri thought he should be a little offended by this, but, then again, Leo was quite right, and Yuri just nodded, keeping the smile in place as the next guest came up.

Otabek put an arm around his waist when a small, round woman Yuri realized was his mother came by, and Yuri tuned into the conversation.

“You’re excited, I see,” the woman said, smiling kindly and conspiratorially at Yuri, “it’s always a shame when heats come unplanned, but you’re doing very well, dear. Welcome to the family!” Yuri was pulled into a hug and the small woman petted his cheek kindly before departing.

By the time dinner was actually eaten, any final vestige of energy that Yuri had had in the reserves was gone, and he was fairly certain that his hopes to go into heat in three days’ time were about to be dashed. It had gotten steadily harder to focus as the day had progressed and the cramping in Yuri’s belly was now bad enough that he had to keep a hand pressed to it under the table, something that Otabek had not missed and had responded to by shifting closer so Yuri could rest his head on his shoulder. To anyone else, it was a gesture of affection in the happy couple; to them, it was necessity, Yuri feeling weighed down with lead and just barely managing to keep a grimace off his face and the whimper of pain from escaping his throat.

By the time dessert and speeches were over, Yuri was soaked in sweat, only hoping that it wasn’t visible to anyone besides Otabek and Mila on Yuri’s other side, who kept him in a continuous supply of iced water.

When Otabek gently shifted Yuri so he was back in his own chair, Yuri was both confused and a little upset-- his nose had been very close to Otabek’s scent gland as he’d leaned against him before: the loss was devastating. 

Otabek stood, though, and Yuri watched him through glazed eyes as he said a few things before making what sounded like a farewell, and took Yuri’s hand, guiding him up to stand with him. Yuri smiled weakly and waved a bit, hoping he’d been correct in guessing that whatever Otabek had said was a goodbye, and felt himself be led away, Otabek’s arm around his waist and pressing him into his side, supporting the majority of his weight, with Mila scurrying behind them.

They made it into the hall, out of sight of anyone, before Yuri collapsed. His knees gave out and he sagged against Otabek’s side, his mind a swirl of sensation, complex thought lost to him.

Otabek caught him, gently lowering him onto a nearby bench as Mila knelt beside Yuri, feeling his forehead as he melted against Otabek. 

“He’s gone,” Yuri distantly heard someone’s voice mutter to his mate, “in full-blown heat, now.”

The warm body Yuri was leaning against moved slightly as the head whose neck Yuri was nosing into nodded. “I thought so. I wanted to get him out of there as soon as possible.”

An acrid spike of apprehension and suspicion hit the air and Yuri’s nose wrinkled; he pushed his face further into his mate’s neck.

“Get him out?” A sharp, scared, female voice asked, “And take him where? He’s not in his right mind, you can’t--”

“No!” Yuri whined against the scent gland as its owner jolted. “Sorry,” the man (?) murmured apologetically, and repositioned Yuri so he held him entirely against him, warm and safe in his arms. “I just,” he seemed to be speaking to the woman again, though Yuri couldn’t fathom who it was, “I won’t… take him, if that’s what you’re worried about. Never, without his consent.” The worry in the air lessened a bit and Yuri let out a small purr in relief.

“He shouldn’t go with you,” the female voice said again, “how will you be able to control yourself?”

"I will be," a voice replied but skepticism hit the air and it was obvious, even to Yuri, that the woman didn't believe the man.

Somewhere in his foggy mind, Yuri put it together that the woman, whoever she was, wanted the alpha Yuri was pretty sure was his mate to leave. A growl burst from his throat before he could even register it and he clung more tightly to the body he was held against.

A sigh, “Fine,” the woman said, “but I’m coming with you.”

Another slight jostle as the body against Yuri nodded, and then he was being lifted, held (ironically, Yuri would later think, once he could, again, think) aloft in a bridal carry, an arm under his knees and another around his back, cushioning Yuri’s head against a warm chest.

Later, Yuri would beg someone who he would recognize as his best friend Mila to leave (he would be denied); later, he would plead for Otabek to _fuck him, oh my god!_ (he would again be denied); later, Yuri would whine and cry out as the heat took him and wrung him within an inch of his life. Now, though, Yuri was warm and he had the arms of someone good around him, and, content and pleased to be with this someone, Yuri inhaled his scent, and knew he was safe.

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, that was a thing.
> 
> I would greatly appreciate kudos if you thought that this was not terrible (should we set more realistic goals? Nah) and I'd love comments if you feel so inclined.
> 
> Thanks for struggling through this mess XD! ♥


End file.
